"And the whole point of it is that you've got to come along and help me," he concluded.
"Thank you," said Mr Arden, "but I will not go."
Arden was a man of fifty, white-haired, thin, heavily lined.
"Well, why not?" said Winter, peevishly. "I want to know why not. It seems to me it would be rather interesting. You can choose any night you like, and—"
Arden waved the subject away with one hand. "It's useless to talk about it," he said, "I'm not going."
"But what do you mean?" said Winter. "You are not going to tell me that you're superstitious or afraid?"
"I should say," said Arden, "that I am what you would call superstitious. You, I presume, are not."
"Emphatically not," said Winter.
"Nor afraid?"
"Nor afraid," Winter echoed.